Vader vs Voldemort: Battle of the Ages
by Zinga6377
Summary: Has the Dark Lord finally met his match in the highly asthmatic Sith Lord Vader? Will his poor self -esteem become his downfall? And since when does Vader crochet? Find the answers here in what may possibly, sort of, kind of, may be the most epic match up of all time.
1. Chapter 1

Lord Voldemort, the greatest and the most feared Dark Wizard of all time, stood boldly on a rocky cliff peeking over the dusty and desolate landscape of Tattooine. His fearsome eyes glared at the sand, his fearsome mouth sneered at the suns, and, had his can of hair treatment actually worked, a fearsome mullet would have been fluttering in the wind. As he let the breeze flow through his nonexistent hair, he heard the sharp crunch of footsteps and a deep, heavy breathing creep up the slope behind him. Voldemort stilled. He was either about to face a highly asthmatic bear or-

"Lord Vader," he rasped, turning to face his fearsome opponent, "I heard that monstrosity you call a Death Star looms no more. What happened? Couldn't keep up on the rent? Or was it a termite infestation?"

Vader slowly raised his arm and stretched out his fingers toward the sassy figure, the tips aimed at the Dark Lord's throat. Then he lowered it quickly has he reached into his pocket to take a few puffs of his inhaler before addressing the wizard.

"I'll have you know, my children blew it up. Blasted kids. You abandon them at birth, let your troops kill their relatives, kidnap a few of their friends and they feel they have the right to go and blow up your Death Star. Fools! However, I sense you have not requested this meeting to discuss personal matters. Why did I leave my crochet class to come here?"

The Dark Lord's fearsome stance transformed into an awkward shuffle as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet and muttered, "Iwasderingifyoubeadroboticosesoninouralaxy..."

"What? Do I have narcotics and roses in my bakery?"

"Doyouhaveroboticosesoninouralaxy..."

"Did the Knicks and Moses have leprosy?"

"Doyouhaverobicsnosesinyourgalaxy..."

"Do I have epileptics strike nude poses for pottery?"

"DO YOU HAVE ROBOTIC NOSES IN YOUR GALAXY!?"

Lord Vader froze for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter. "Oh ho, so that's what this is all about! Lord Voldemort, terror of the wizarding world, scourge of all who wield wands, enemy of all that is good, is self-conscious of his deplorable nose! Mwahahahahaha! Wait 'till the gals at the crochet class hear this one!" Voldemort fumed silently as Vader rolled on the ground, banging his fists and feet as he chortled over the Dark Lord's pathetic excuse of a nose. After several minutes of continuous and uncontrolled chuckling, Vader pulled out a newly crocheted handkerchief to wipe the tears from his eyes as he turned to face the indignant Dark Lord.

"I find your lack of self-esteem... amusing. For that reason only, I shall grant you your request. However you must do one small favor for me in return." Voldemort nodded fervently. "Anything! Anything! Perhaps when I finally have my new nose, I shall defeat that brat Potter once and for all! What is your request Lord Vader?"

"I have several new fragrances I was planning on giving to the gals at the crochet class and I need an opinion on them. Would you," he snickered, "... smell them for me?"

Black fury enveloped Voldemort's nose-less features as the sheer audacity of this impudent Sith Lord struck him full force. How dare he refuse his request for a nose, and how dare he openly mock him through that ugly helmet he called a face! He whipped out his wand. This insolent Sith would rue the day he crossed paths with the Dark Lord! "How very funny, Lord Vader," he growled, "I daresay, I have not laughed this much since I heard the joke about the 'hot' young man who so very carelessly lost his arms and legs. How very clumsy of him."

Now Vader, taking a quick puff his inhaler, drew his lightsaber as he and the wizard circled each other. "That," he said, "Was below the belt. Or do you even wear belts with that dress of yours?"

"IT'S A ROBE!" Voldemort screamed. The gloves, or robotic hands, were off. Glaring at each other, the dysfunctional pair prepared to face off in what promised to be the most epic duel of all time. Probably.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who read or reviewed! I know it's a ridiculous story, but it's fun to write

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters.

Darth Vader twirled his blazing red lightsaber between his gloved fingers. "Give up now Baldy," he intoned his deep voice, "You and your barbaric twig are no match for my awe-inspiring lightsaber, a terrifying and gruesome weapon for a civilized age!" He chuckled darkly. "Seriously where'd you even find that thing?"

"It was an extraordinarily reasonable two-for-one sale at Walmart," mumbled Voldemort to himself. "But enough talk of my wand!" he proclaimed more loudly, "You dare insult my weapon? AND my hair?"

"Actually, I was insulting the lack of it," muttered Vader.

"AS I WAS SAYING. How dare you insult my wand and my head. YOU who must wear that hideous helmet and who wields," he snickered, "a rather _less_ than intimidating saber."

"What do you mean less than-" Vader stopped, blushing beneath his helmet as he took note of the embarrassingly feminine hue his saber had taken. He _knew_ it was an old lightsaber, that he should have tuned it up, ensured that it would stop fading to such a horridly humiliating color, such a nasty shade of-

"_PINK_?" howled Voldemort incredulously, his laughter shaking his thin frame, "Darth Vader, scourge of the galaxy, murderer of the innocent, has terrorized the universe with his 'awe-inspiring' _pink _lightsaber all these years? I'm impressed! I'm sure all the asthmatic kittens and frail old grannies must have run screaming for cover. Did little old Muriel at the crochet class find it just terrifying?"

"Her name," Vader said, with all the dignity he could muster, "is Gladys! And YES she did!"

"Whatever," huffed the Dark Lord. "It is of no matter. Your pathetic lightsaber cannot compete with my glorious wand, and your wrinkly face cannot compete with my flawlessly smooth complexion," he said, rubbing his corpselike fingers over his shining scalp.

"Flawless. _Flawless_? You honestly think your skin is flawless?" Vader pretended to consider the wizard thoughtfully. "Well. If you say so."

Voldemort suddenly became worried. "What? What do you mean 'if I say so?' Of course, it's flawless!" The Dark Lord felt uneasy. He already felt horribly insecure about his missing nose, could he even bear it if his one pride and joy, his smooth skin, was tarnished as well?

"No, no, of course it's flawless. Immaculate. No glaringly obvious imperfections here."

"You don't mean that!"

"Of course I do!"

"Are you sure?"

The Sith Lord looked upon Voldemort as kindly as he could through his black helmet. "Tom. Would I lie to you about such an important and sensitive matter?" he asked with sincerity dripping from his voice.

Voldemort smiled, relief flooding through him. Wait a second…

"OF COURSE YOU WOULD YOU PIECE OF OWL POOP! WHAT IMPERFECTION?!"

Vader smiled triumphantly. "Moledemort say what?"

"WHAT? A MOLE!?"

"Well, you know, I caught a glimpse of it when your dress drifted up a bit higher than it should have."

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" screeched Voldemort as he pointed his wand towards the Sith Lord.

"AAAARGHHH!" roared Vader as he blocked the fatal curse with his an impressive swing of his now fuchsia lightsaber.

The two continued as wild thrusts of a color-shifting lightsaber were parried by a conveniently-priced wand. From a distance, a casual observer may have found the battle sensational, an electrifying brawl of purely epic proportions, if they ignored the frequent appearances of the plastic inhaler or the occasional stumbles of pale feet over a poorly fitted robe. Eventually, the whirls of sand and grit calmed down, revealing the two out-of-shape lords slumped against each other as they panted and wheezed on the dusty ground.

"Well," said Vader, "I have to say that lasted longer than expected."

"Indeed," agreed Voldemort, "I'd say two, maybe three minutes?"

"No, it was definitely a solid four."

"Ah."

"Well, shall we continue?" asked Vader, groaning as he placed his hands on his back to straighten it out.

"Yes we shall!" said Voldemort, dusting off his robes and reaching his for his wand as Vader reached for his lightsaber.

Only to find that neither were there.

"Vader. Where. Is. My. Wand."

The Sith Lord looked confused. Or at least under his helmet he did. "I don't know. What did you do with my lightsaber?!"

"I didn't touch it!" roared Voldemort, panicking as he fell on his hands and knees digging through the sand, Vader bent down beside him doing likewise.

"Well this is just _fabulous_," huffed Vader after a few minutes, "How are we supposed to kill each other without our weapons? And where ARE our weapons?"

"I don't know!" Voldemort frowned. "However… I may have an idea of how to resolve this little dispute."

Vader glanced at the dark wizard skeptically.

"How?"


	3. Chapter 3

Vader glared at the odd assortment of groceries and kitchen utensils that lay before him as he strongly resisted the overwhelming urge to Force-chuck a thick egg at a certain unbearable Dark Wizard.

"This is your stupidest idea yet."

"Oh come on, don't be such a sithy..."

"Two all-powerful Lords attempting to settle the greatest battle of all ages with a bake-off? _A bake-off? _Your moronic nose has already made you the laughingstock of your universe, and now you want to meet your doom while sporting a "Kiss the Cook" apron?"

Voldemort frowned as he smoothed the frills of his apron. "Don't be angry that your fat hips failed to accommodate your own apron, Vader."

"IT'S NOT THE FAT, IT'S THE METAL."

"Whatever. Complain all you like, you fool, but bear in mind that we have already exhausted all other methods of resolving this dispute. After all, somebody just HAD to protest against a perfectly reasonable snowball fight-"

"I come from a desert planet! It wasn't fair!" snapped Vader. "Besides, Mr.-I'll Break-A-Nail, who was it that protested so vehemently against an Extreme Crochet competition?"

"You already knew how! And honestly, you how can one criticize the grandeur of a bake-off while pushing for a crochet competition?"

Vader sniffed. "There is no greater glory than weaving the harmonious result of mighty needles and majestic yarn."

Rolling his eyes, Voldemort again turned his attention back to the wooden kitchen countertop. "Well maybe if someone hadn't vaporized the laser tag center on Alderaan, we wouldn't be in this mess now, would we?"

The Sith Lord slammed his fist on counter. "Oh really? Tell that to the kayaking center you ordered your Death Eaters to destroy!"

Voldemort snorted. "Hardly my fault. The fools deserved it! They got my robes wet!"

Vader stared. "You went kayaking… and didn't expect to get wet?"

"The point is there are no other options! This kitchen is still standing, and neither of us has any experience cooking. It's completely fair." Vader fumed silently. The idiotic wizard had a point. He had always threatened his subordinates with choking should they fail to bring him his favorite foods, and Voldemort had either done the same or whipped up some pancakes with his wand. He sighed. There really was only one choice.

"Fine. One cake each. Must be completed in less than 3 hours. No magic or Force. Most delicious cake wins, and the victorious baker shall rule the galaxy!" He paused. "And the loser shall not be permitted to ridicule the victor's fuchsia weapons or magnificent hobbies."

The Dark Lord considered Vader's rules for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Yes! And in addition to refraining from any ridicule concerning the victor's nose or hair-

"Lack of hair."

"- the loser shall have to assist the victor in defeating the Potter brat!"

"Or in defeating his children," amended Vader.

"Deal?" said Voldemort.

"Deal!" said Vader.

Conditions set, the two enemies set upon their task with vigor. Although the competition was temporarily delayed as Voldemort cleaned the yolk off his head from an inexplicably airborne egg, the next three hours saw nothing but the two lords hard at work on their respective confections. No sounds emanated from the dusty kitchen save for the clattering of bowls and utensils, the sneezing of a Sith Lord, and the Dark Wizard's humming rendition of "Bad."

The moment of truth arrived. Exhausted but brimming glee and anticipation, the opponents set their creations on the table. Silence reigned for a few minutes. Finally Vader spoke.

"Who's going to judge it?"

AN: Thanks to everyone who's read! Please feel free to leave comments! I hope you laughed


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